“What does she think she’s doing?” Poppy asks nobody in particular. It’s as though Sorrel has done this on purpose to pay her back; she’s pushed her away enough times. She bites her nails, spitting out the stuff underneath. Everyone’s in bed but no one is sleeping.

“We could track her down,” Blake says, “in the woods.”

Charley sits up. “Let’s try now.”

“How would that work?” Izzy asks. “Your mum’s downstairs, she’d never allow us out.”

Izzy gets out of bed and onto Poppy’s mattress; she takes Poppy’s hand. “We need to stay close to each other now, like sisters.”

Sorrel’s hands are small, her fingers are soft, the nails are bitten. She smells of sweets. Izzy isn’t anything like a sister. Poppy pulls her hand away.

“We’re stronger if we stay together,” Izzy says.

“Like Russell Crowe in Gladiator,” Blake mutters. “You know, before they fight.”

Charley laughs, a hopeful sound that fades quickly in the dark.

“Do your parents fight?” Blake asks Poppy.

She shakes her head. “They don’t talk very much, well, hardly ever.”

“That’s fighting,” Izzy says.

“Ours do, a bit,” Blake says.

“Well, my father hurts my mother, he strangles her,” Izzy says. She sounds different, angry. They all sit up and stare at her. “In sex,” she adds.

“How do you know?” Blake asks.

“I’ve seen it,” Izzy replies.

“That’s so fucked up,” Charley says.

“Not as fucked up as yours.” Izzy laughs. “Your dad is screwing Eve.”

“That’s bullshit,” Blake says furiously.

Poppy has never heard Blake talk like that to Izzy; normally he’s sort of gentle. Now it sounds like he wants to hit her; she feels the same. Mum and Martin. She wants to be sick.

“How would you know?” Charley asks.

“I sneaked into the room while they were doing it,” Izzy replies.

“What’s the matter with you?” Charley sounds outraged and as if she wants to cry at the same time.

“Bet you knew,” Izzy murmurs.

“Poor Dad.” Poppy wants to cry too. “Do you think he knows?”

Izzy tries to take her hand again but Poppy snatches it back and gets up and walks over to Charley’s bed. Charley moves to make room for her and she slides in beside her. Izzy stays where she is, on her own on the mattress; she doesn’t say anything. The last thing that Poppy remembers of that evening is how warm it is lying next to Charley and the sight of Izzy sitting upright as still as a little statue carved in stone. For the first time ever, Izzy looks lonely.

Part Four

Damage

I’ve thought of all the times when we could have forestalled damage to the children, but the truth is we were damaged ourselves. Even if we had worked that out, it wouldn’t have been much use. Those early wounds run deep.

Eve had been ignored as a child, controlled but neglected; longing for freedom and longing for affection, she was ridiculously generous with both, and I don’t just mean Martin. She trusted everyone. How would she have recognized cruelty when she was determined to love everyone she met?